


Empty lots; for stargazing

by MechanicalHeart



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 20:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicalHeart/pseuds/MechanicalHeart
Summary: Sy Feltz would gladly do anything his partner Emmit Stussy asks.Maybe it would have been better, and healthier, if he had taken a step back from him, at least a decade ago. But Sy is incapable of letting go.Basically, this is my sentimental, sloppy wish fulfillment.





	1. Everything changes

Now that it was all going wrong, Sy Feltz fell back in his old patterns. Business moving in the wrong direction? Sy moved to the bar.  
He was aware of his bad habits. He knew that downing a beer or six would not make him feel any better. He just couldn’t find that willpower, that step above awareness, to do the right thing. He found that it helped to empty the glass of cold draft quickly. That way, he didn’t have to stare at it for very long. Seeing the actual shape, the manifestation of his own bad decisions before his eyes made it that much harder to go through with it. It created a new problem, though: the bar looked like what Sty imagined depression to look like. Everything was brown. Not just brown, but with an added sense of moldiness, as if the wood on the pool table and the stools was at least thirty years old and could use a damp cloth and a bit of lacquer.  
Maybe, if Sty had still been painting, he would have expressed his feelings of hopelessness by painting the interior of this bar. He couldn’t figure out why exactly, but he had spent a lot of time here throughout the years. Ever since he had been legally allowed to drink beer one could have found him here, even though he had never enjoyed it much after the novelty had worn off. He figured he was just used to it by now. He had simply accepted that the bar was old and stale, in the same way that he had simply accepted his life was uneventful and unlikely to amount to anything. Now that he thought of it, he had probably had the exact same train of thought before. It had started back when he was a teenager; eighteen, nineteen years old. It was more than likely. The years behind him were all blending together in his mind, so he couldn’t point out a specific moment, but there were some memories left. He tried to lose his fatigue by shaking his head, but it didn’t work.  
“Can I have another one?” he addressed the barman. It was a young guy; Sy had never seen him work here before.  
“Enjoy,” he vacantly said in Sy’s direction as he put a new glass on the bar.  
Everything changes, Sy pondered, and everything stays the same.


	2. Sketches

He had been strong once, and fit. He still did his best, jumping in the pool when he had the time, but he could hardly remember what that had felt like. All he had were a few pictures of himself on which he looked pretty strong and energetic, and he remembered, vaguely, falling asleep and getting up with ease. Nineteen-year-old Sy had possessed a certain kind of resilience.  
Not only was he in great physical shape, because he swam laps four days a week before school; his mind was going in every direction and worked in creative and surprising ways. He had made a lot of drawings and paintings in those days, and he had handed in art projects effortlessly because there were so many lying around. It didn’t take much time, anyway. Sy had creative talents, and he knew it. But there was always so much going on inside of his head that he had trouble finishing and closing things. Before the ink or paint was dry on one project, his thoughts had wandered over to the next idea, and that made it very difficult to make something he could really be proud of.  
Thinking about it now, Sy realized it had to have been his final year of high school. It had to have been the final year, because at that particular time he had been working on his graduation project, or rather, he was procrastinating work on his graduation project. He had never spent more evenings at this old dirty bar than he had in May of his graduation year. The memory was extra clear because it had been the first time he had ever been there on his own. Usually, one of his friends (or just the people he hung out with, as he had no clue where most of them were any more, so had they ever really been friends?) had dropped the bar’s name in a conversation, and at a certain point, they had gathered there. Mostly inside, but when the sun was out, they would sit outside until the sun sank and the temperature dropped until it was no longer comfortable. This particular time, however, he had been alone. Maybe he had sat right where he was sitting now, on the same old stool, in the same spot. That he couldn’t recall.  
He had gone there in order to avoid thinking about his graduation project and everything it entailed. Of course, the thing he was running from was gaining on him with every step he took, and avoiding the subject only made it more prominent in his mind. But back then, at nineteen, he had probably believed it would work. The thing was, he had no idea how he was ever going to finish it. He had no idea what he would be handing in, but he knew he had to make _something_ , as this project would count for 40% of his final grade. It’s not that he hadn’t made anything. To the contrary; his productivity had never been higher- and it would never be as high again, but he didn’t know that at the time. There was a problem. He couldn’t hand in any of it. Sure, he had been drawing, he had been sketching so much he ran out of sketchbooks and had to go to the mall over and over to get more paper. But it was never a project. It was never suitable for class. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain away the stack of drawings he made, all of the same boy? Okay, not all of them were portraits of Emmit. But he sure had a lot of those. Here and there, another boy’s face had ended up in there. Not many, though. And this was where Sy’s talent caused him trouble: the portraits were too good. They resembled Emmit so well anyone who knew him would instantly recognize him. And what would he think about it? What would it do to him, if he would ever lay eyes upon an entire exhibition of his own face?  
Sy took a deep breath and sipped his beer. He turned the glass around in his hand, noticing the small drops of water on the outside. I could draw that, he thought. He could, yes, somehow. He didn’t know how, but he would figure something out. It would be as useless to his art teacher as the pile of paper hidden in a box beneath his bed, though. He had shoved the sheets underneath a bunch of old comic books nobody in the house would read. He was still nervous that perhaps his sister would find them, someday. But what could he do? He didn’t want to throw the drawings in the trash, either. It kept him up at night.

Sy liked boys. That afternoon, in the bar, by himself, wasn’t the first time he realized it, but it had never been more clear to him. It had always been there; a sort of nagging problem he didn’t want to deal with, and didn’t necessarily have to deal with, until later. Later… He would think about it, later. Why would he spend time pondering about something irrelevant? His time was better spent on something else. Logic was with him on this. So, he went to school, did his homework, hung out with his pals, went back to bed and dreamt about boys. The next morning, his schedule would be fixed and he wouldn’t have to think about it. It was only when he had some time for himself that he kept going back to it.   
He had never done anything. He had never been really close to a boy. He had never touched one in a way that meant anything to him, had never held one, had never kissed one. How, then, was it possible to be so perfectly and completely convinced, that he preferred them over girls? He didn’t know. He just knew that was the case for him. Maybe the mere presence of Emmit made it all more obvious, and the thought more nagging. But Sy knew that it didn’t matter who it was; Emmit, or somebody else: this would have happened eventually, regardless. He would have met someone else and the same exact thing would have happened to him. But right now, it just happened to be his friend. Possibly, he thought, his best friend. Which made everything terrible. What had he ever done to deserve this?  
Sy was making up a list, mentally, of the things he would say if someone found out. If someone stumbled upon the drawings. Or, god forbid, if he would say something without thinking, or in his sleep, at summer camp or wherever.  
One: We are not together. Two: Emmit is not gay. Three: Emmit does not know about this.  
If it were up to him, he would never know. He was just worried someone would notice, someone would see the way he looked in Emmit’s direction and would know what it was about right away, as if it was written on his forehead. He looked over to him sometimes, but maybe he should stop.

Sy closed his eyes, above his drink. There was still some left, so he hoped the guy tending the bar wouldn’t say anything. Emmit’s features floated before his eyes. His curls, loosely framing the bone structure of his face. He had drawn them so often. The eye of his memory moved from the dark, round eyes to the lips. A warm, damp atmosphere hung in the bar, so when he felt the rush of blood to his cheeks, he felt even warmer than he usually did when thinking about Emmit.   
A group of guys walked in. Sy felt his heart accelerate when he noticed familiar faces- all boys from his class. Well, class was finished from them, too, he guessed. He didn’t take chemistry or physics, but he thought he had heard somewhere there was some special exam preparation class that would take until four today. He searched for Emmit in their midst, but Emmit found him, first.  
“The young recluse painter drinks his pain away,” he declared and sat down on the stool next to him. Sy grinned, nervously.  
“It’s not as deep as it looks.”  
“I’m sure staring into that glass is a lot more stimulating than listening to O’Brien for hours. Thanks, I’ll have what he’s having,” Emmit gestured to the barman.

Not many things were quite as transparent as the memories Sy had of that day. It represented a turning point, in a way. It’s not that before that afternoon, Sy had had any illusions that Emmit would feel the same about him, or that he would fall for him or anything. But maybe, somewhere in his heart, he had had hope that the road wasn’t closed for him. That there was some way to make him understand how he felt. Preferably in a way that would not end in Emmit distancing himself. Most preferably, Sy wanted him to confess that he had his own secret crush, but he was too sensible to hope for it. It would make him way too nervous, anyway, and he never wanted to be nervous with Emmit.

Their conversation was interrupted by one of their classmates (Brian, Sy thought he was called, but he recalled the names of the students only slightly better than he did the names of their teachers). Jovially, he slapped Emmit on his back.  
Sy was addressed with a "Hey, man" before Brian turned his attention back to Emmit. Sy retreated mentally and went back to inspecting his beer and the variety of coasters lying around on the table. He moved his arms and noticed the table was sticky and could use some detergent. Every now and then, Sy checked if the conversation was almost finished, but this one seemed to take a while. Something about the baseball game scheduled for the weekend. Was Emmit planning on going? It sounded like it. That meant he would be out of town this Saturday. Fine, in that case, I'll be at the pool, maybe help my mom with the groceries, Sy thought; changing his own plans. He figured he would spend at least a couple of hours alone in his room. When he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was looking forward to those hours. He could pop by the convenience store, get some snacks, rent a movie... Lock the door, get some privacy. He looked over to Emmit, but cast his eyes down again, quickly.

“How’s Cathy, then?” Brian asked. Sy didn’t like the broad grin on his face when he asked that question. He liked Emmit’s smile even less than the question.  
“Things are… moving along nicely,” he said and laughed.  
“I heard from a trustworthy source that she’ll be at the game, man,” Brian grinned.  
“Oh, did you?”  
“Yeah. So um, good luck, man.”  
“Thanks.”  
Brian slapped Emmit on his shoulder again and walked off to score a cigarette from one of the other guys. Emmit laughed to himself and turned back to Sy.  
“Sorry.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“He’s blunt like that. Not very gentleman-like.”  
“I guess not.”  
“He’s probably going to the same school as me… so he’s gonna get kind of hard to avoid.”  
“Oh well. At least Ray will be miles away.”  
Emmit burst out laughing. “Hey, Sy, don’t be mean to my bro like that. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that. Besides,” he continued, “Ray is always running after girls lately. He hardly ever bothers me anymore, did I tell you that?”  
“No, you didn’t.”  
“It’s great. He doesn’t follow me around anymore. He would’ve been sitting here, right next to me, if it were last year. Seems he finally found himself a hobby.”  
Sy liked the sound of that. Ray was around very often when Sy came over to the Stussy’s, and he’d walk in on them all the time when they were watching TV or just talking. Sy didn’t necessarily dislike Ray. He just wanted Emmit to himself.

“Sy,” Emmit said. Something about his tone was unfamiliar to Sy. It immediately unnerved him.  
“Hm?”  
“I think I have a girlfriend, now.”  
Sy felt his heart sank so far he was afraid he would never be able to retrieve it. “Who, Cathy?”  
Emmit nodded. “Yes. Cathy. I mean, we didn’t… we don’t have an agreement, or anything like that. It’s just… well, for one, we can’t keep our hands off each other.”  
“I see.”  
Emmit chuckled at his neutral reaction. “Don’t worry, I’m always careful and so is she. It just gets pretty overwhelming at times. I want to talk about it all the time, but I didn’t want to bore you, do you know what I mean?”  
Not really, Sy thought, but what he said was: “Of course.”  
“I’m not really sure what’s gonna happen when I leave for college. But she’s going to be there, in the same town. So, I figure it might get serious.” He looked at Sy, a sparkle in his round eyes. “I wanted to warn you in advance.”  
“Warn me? What for?”  
“Well, you know. I’d like you to know what’s going on in my life. Even when we can’t see as much of each other like we’re used to.”  
“That’s nice of you,” Sy muttered and took a few gulps of his beer.  
“And I want you to know that she won’t come between us.” Emmit ticked his glass to Sy’s. “Girls come and go. You stay.”  
“I hope so.”  
“Hey, don’t worry.” Emmit laid his hand on Sy’s shoulder and looked him in his eyes. “I mean it.”  
Sy managed to twist his face into a grin. “Thanks.”  
“When you know your new address, let me know, okay? And tell me when you leave. I want to help moving your stuff.”  
“I will. But I don’t know yet.”  
“Just let me know when you do.”  
They finished their beers, set the glasses on their coasters and smiled when their eyes met again.  
“You want another?”  
“Sure.”  
Emmit gestured and ordered two more beers.  
“Sy, do you have a girlfriend right now?”  
Sy shook his head.  
“Did you have one before?”  
“No. Never.”  
“But you look great. They’re missing out.”  
“What can I say? They don’t seem to like me.”  
“For their sake, I hope they put two and two together soon.”  
“Well, there is someone…”  
“Really?” Emmit looked at him, surprised, and very cute.  
“Yes…” Sy answered his gaze, trying to put a subliminal message in his eyes, somehow; a telepathic connection. If they really were soulmates, wouldn’t this work? Wouldn’t Emmit understand what he was trying to say?  
“Well, who is she?”  
Sy sighed. He gave up. “It’s nothing. You don’t know her.”  
“If you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m here.”  
“I know you are.”  
“Good!” Emmit happily drank his beer, completely unaware of Sy’s state of mind. Maybe he would try again, one day. But for now, he was all out of courage. Perhaps he should take a break from him. For his own sake; and for the sake of his art project. It’s a good thing he’s out of town for the weekend, he said to himself. And he tried; he honestly did. The Monday after, he had made six drawings of plants and a few sketches of insects, and only one of Emmit.


	3. The empty lot

He had been to Minneapolis to look for like-minded people exactly once. What he had found had pretty much made up his mind: it was not for him. 

He had been twenty-four years old. His birthday was just around the corner. Being twenty-five felt like a huge milestone to him; a bridge to cross. When he turned twenty-five in a week, something had to change, is what he told himself. He couldn't go on like this.   
He was still living at home. He was still finishing up his studies. He drove around empty fields almost every day. They were dry and brown in the summer, and the rest of the months they were covered in snow and so white it hurt his eyes. He was bored of it. So very bored. Like many guys his age he dreamed of different pastures; mostly concrete and steel pastures. He wish he lived in a bigger city. There would be different people there. Sy was longing to meet different people. He was also longing for a circle of acquaintances who would know his secret. Where would he find those mystical open-minded individuals? In a famously gay-friendly city, perhaps. All the old magazines stashed underneath his bed were raving about how great the gay scene was over there. And even though Sy knew nothing about the 'gay scene' (he knew he was gay, and that was it), he was curious. Curious, and lonely. Every time he spoke with Emmit, and that happened a lot, he felt so indescribably lonely he couldn't breathe freely, like a huge weight was slowly lowered on his chest. Last time, he had been afraid he would start crying in front of him.  
Emmit hadn't even been talking about anything significant. When he had mentioned Stella and how serious things seemed to be getting between them, Sy hadn't flinched. He had expected Emmit to find a girlfriend at college and settle down quickly. He was just that type of guy. It had been obvious even during graduation year. The girl he had been dating back then had broken up with him in the summer vacation, and Sy remembered Emmit had been devastated. It had taken him months to get over her. To him, it wasn't just the girl who had left him; it was an entire vision of his future with her.  

But this time, things seemed to be going well for Emmit. Contrary to Sy, he would graduate soon, he was regularly seeing Stella, and was looking into buying some land for parking lots. As a business idea, it sounded insanely dry, but Sy had to admit it was clever and promising, if you only cared for profit. In the middle of Emmit's talk about parking lots, he revealed something about himself. Sy pricked up his ears.   
"It's a beautiful part of the county. I drive over there sometimes just to watch the starlings. Have you ever been? It's best at sunset."  
Sy shook his head.   
"You should see it. It's a good spot if you need somewhere to gather your thoughts, maybe listen to some music." Emmit smiled. "I highly recommend it. Heck, I can take you there sometime? If we're in the neighborhood and have absolutely nothing else to do?"

"Sure, sure," Sy returned his smile. Emmit didn't notice, but he was doing his best to stay calm. Because Sy  _had_  been there before. He had parked there and he had watched the starlings make their complex formations. On that same piece of land, he had let his mind wander in places it usually couldn't go. His personal doubts about the future. He tried to come up with prospects for a job, so far unsuccessful. He tried to visualize himself as he walked through life. It wasn't easy, and he found that he needed to be in a certain state of mind. Letting go of the thoughts of the day was easier when he was there. The knowledge that Emmit had the same habit felt like a punch to his guts. Come to think of it, every time something like this happened, when he discovered a new similarity or something that highly interested him, it just hurt. Hanging out with Emmit meant guaranteed torture. And the longer Sy allowed it to go on this way, the more painful it became, like getting beaten up for the second time, all over again, before the bruises have had the chance to heal.

It was time to leave.  
  
He recalled feeling cautiously optimistic about the whole thing before the sun had set. Minneapolis seemed like a nice place. He had found a good restaurant and a nice place to get a coffee. The people working at those places had seemed friendly, at the very least, and not at all interested in asking him all kinds of intrusive questions. Where he was from, people in shops tended to like that sort of thing. Sy did not. Being spared the sense of being rude was a relief. Not too big of a relief, though. He couldn’t calm his nerves. Even when he told himself he wasn’t really going to _do_ anything, he couldn’t relax.   
He decided to drive towards the district “his” kind of people were supposed to hang out. He didn’t want to walk. He guessed he was too scared of others noticing him and knowing what was up right away. He wanted to be braver, he really did – he appreciated others being out there and living their lives unapologetically – but he was not used to it. He wouldn’t be good at it, anyway. He was embarrassed and it would probably show. That’s what growing up in a small hick town will do to you, he thought, slowly driving past the sidewalks.

When he saw them, his heart beat noticeably faster than it had before. Boys, so many boys, wearing clothes they would never ever wear back in his small town. Short-haired boys, long-haired boys. They were on the sidewalk, talking, waiting for the club doors to open, Sy figured. Some were smoking cigarettes. A few of them looked over to him. He checked his appearance in his rearview mirror, anxiously stroking his chin and moustache, trying to come to terms with his own face. He looked over to the colorful gathering on the sidewalk again. He hands trembled. He wanted to brake, to park his car and join them. He wanted to meet them; to talk to them. To not feel like an outsider. But, his nervous mind repeated ad nauseum, what would he talk about? Did they even have anything in common? Yes, chances were that they were all into guys. But what about it? Did that entail an instant connection?   
Sy shook his head. He was angry with himself, with his shyness that kept on being a hindrance to him and his own freedom. He was sick of it. He parked his car on the end of the road and stepped out, walking towards the line on the sidewalk. He hoped he would come across as a polite newcomer as he took a spot in the line.   
A couple of guys in front of him looked over their shoulders; others seemed to inspect him. Sy cast his eyes down, but he thought he had seen a few smiles. It wasn’t completely unthinkable that they liked what they were seeing, right?   
Sy slowly moved his weight from left to right, playing with his balance as time passed. The sunlight retreated and the streetlights turned on. With so many men surrounding him, his anxiety rose, but so did his excitement. Every time his mind wandered, he wondered what it would be like: to be held, to be kissed, to end up in bed with one of them – it was so difficult to imagine. The longer he stood there, the more guys arrived on the sidewalk. It was around ten thirty when the doors finally opened. A collective cheer was made and step by step, the guests entered the club.   
“Hey, are you new here?”   
Sy looked beside him as if a wasp had just stung him. A short-haired boy who couldn’t be older than twenty was smiling at him. Two other boys, who appeared to be his friends, were also looking his way.  
“Hi. I’m Leo. I was just wondering if you were here for the first time. If you aren’t, well, then I can’t seem to remember your name.”  
“Sy,” he muttered. “I’m here for the first time.”  
“Sy. Hello! And welcome.” Leo shook his hand. “This is Peter and this is Bradley.”  
“Hi,” Sy greeted them shyly.  
“So, we often go here,” Leo said.  
Bradley smirked. “We’re kind of furniture here.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. But we live just a block away, on the campus.”  
“Are you from around here?” Peter asked. Sy blinked at him. He was gorgeous. He had olive skin and thick, pink lips. His dark curls complimented his features like a well-made frame fit around a painting. Sy tried to breathe, so he could answer his question.  
“I- No. I’m from Eden Prairie.”  
“Ah, that’s too bad. So you’ll probably leave early? Or do you have a place to stay tonight?”  
“I was planning to go back home tonight, yes.”  
“That means no drinking!” Leo exclaimed, and poked him in his side. “Sounds like a night full of adventures.”  
Sy laughed and shook his head, unsure of what to say.  
“It’s okay. I understand not wanting to get shit-faced right away. It can be scary to go the first time. Especially if you’re alone.”  
“I respect that you’re here, a lot,” Bradley agreed. “Hope you have a good time.”  
They had reached the doors, now, and the three boys obviously couldn’t wait to see their… friends? Acquaintances? Lovers? who were already inside.   
“See you around, Sy,” Leo smiled at him, shaking his hand again.  
Sy smiled back at them as they quickly joined the moving, dancing, jumping crowd inside.

 

It was very dark and very full. It wasn’t a big place at all and the bar staff had a very busy night. Sy looked around from where he was, his back to the wall, and only walked through the crowd to get another drink. Suddenly, there was a guy, probably slightly older than him. Dark skin, short hair, cleanly shaven. He walked past, checked him out from his head to his toes, and stopped in his tracks.  
“Hey,” he yelled against the music. “Want to dance?”  
Sy’s first instinct was to refuse, but he decided against it. “Yes.”  
“Come on.” The guy reached for his hand and pulled him onto the floor. To his own surprise, it went pretty well. Sy didn’t make a fool of himself at all, and the music was so easy to dance to that it didn’t really matter what kind of moves he was making. The guy seemed to enjoy himself, too, and Sy noticed his eyes were on him all the time. Through his initial shyness, it was also a powerful feeling to him. A brand new feeling.  
“What are you drinking?”  
“Beer,” Sy replied. He had already had one beer, so this one had to be his last.   
“I’ll get one for you,” the guy said with a big smile on his face. “Oh, and I’m Nate, by the way.”  
“Sy,” Sy yelled back.  
“Hey, Sy.”  
He stared at Nate as he made his way to the bar. He was cute, he had to admit that he was. His loose shirt looked old and vintage, but that was probably the idea. Paired with those jeans, Sy would have definitely noticed him on the street, if he had seen him there. He swallowed nervously and his fingers trembled slightly, and when Nate returned, his mouth was so dry he coughed when he tried to thank him for the beer.  
“Hey, it’s alright, I know you’re grateful,” Nate laughed. He had nice teeth.   
  
Sy could keep up with him for one more hour. They danced and talked, but only a little since the music made it hard to make out the words. When Nate moved closer and laid his hands on Sy’s shoulders, Sy knew he couldn’t do it any longer. It was precisely _because_ he was so cute that Sy felt completely suffocated. He cringed under his touch. I can’t do it, he thought. Panic crept up on him. The room felt so much smaller now. He checked his watch, trying to drop a hint that he needed to go.  
“Oh, come on,” Nate reacted immediately, “it’s not even midnight yet!”  
The look in his eyes was slightly hurt. Not much, but the hurt was there, undeniably, and Sy felt it like a tiny needle prick in his heart.   
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he shook hands with Nate.  
“Nah, you’re getting a hug, new kid,” Nate smiled and held him close to his chest for a second or two. The sensation made Sy dizzy.   
“Come back soon, alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah, definitely.”  
Sy felt Nate’s eyes in his back as he made his way to the doors. He avoided all eye contact at the wardrobe. He simply got his coat and walked to his car. He drove without thinking where he was going. His mind went from Nate’s face to Peter’s curls and back to Emmit. It was always Emmit. Maybe it always would be Emmit. The thought was suffocating to him.   
He left Minneapolis and drove up the highway. His dashboard clock told him it was 11:53 PM. His mirror showed him his own face. _I can’t breathe_ , he thought.

 

Hours later, he found himself on the prospective Stussy lot Emmit had told him about. Trying his best to breathe at a slow, steady pace, Sy felt his heart rate go down at long last. The night air was cool and all was quiet. There was absolutely nothing around his car. He was alone under the stars. Sy breathed out, emptying his lungs until the next breath in came to him naturally. He closed his eyes and, for a short, refreshing time, managed to think of nothing at all.


	4. Red wine

He had been deep in thought, but was buzzed out of it by the sudden vibrations of his cellphone. It was Emmit. Sy paused for a second, as was his custom, until the initial shock had worn off. It was pathetic, after all of those years, to still not be over it- he knew, he was aware, and he was coping with it. There was nothing else he could do.

"Sy."  
"Hi, Emmit. What's up?"  
"Where are you?"  
"I'm at the Unity. Just... having a drink."  
"Are you alone?"  
"Well, yes."  
"Is Esther home?"  
"No. She's over in North Dakota with her family. She's supposed to drive her mom over to ours next week for Christmas..."  
"Ah, yes. Yes, now I remember."  
Even through the phone, Emmit's voice sounded... not right. Agitated. As if he had just seen a ghost.  
"Sy, can I come over? Please. Just... go back to yours and I'll be there right away."  
"Of course you can."  
"Can I borrow the couch for the night?"  
"Sure, sure. But... what's going on?"  
"Not much, I... I- it's Varga. He was in my house. Again. And I just can't deal with him right now. I'm sure you understand."  
"I do."  
"Listen, Stella and the kids are not in town. It's just me here, alone. I don't want Varga coming back here when I'm by myself like this. And I mean, I could invite you over, but I thought... I felt it would be better..."  
"Of course. It's alright. I'll get back home right now and wait for you."  
Emmit exhaled, sounding very relieved as he thanked his partner. "I'll be over soon, then."  
"I'll wait for you."  
"Bye."

Sy paid for his drinks and quietly left the bar. He walked the short distance back to his house, trying his hardest not to slip on the snow, which was freezing up quickly again now that the sun was down. He was glad, so very glad that he had kept his alcohol intake to a minimum- he had had only two drinks when Emmit had called him. Maybe I can open that bottle tonight, he thought, remembering he still kept a years-old bottle of wine in the cabinet next to the fireplace. Esther didn't like wine very much and only drank a glass or two on special occasions. They were always bottles she had picked herself. Sy had to admit she had a good eye for wine. Whatever she brought home always tasted great. But the bottle he had stacked in the cabinet had been his choice. Esther probably didn't even know it was there.  
Sy shook his head. Thinking in this way was stupid. It's not a date, he repeated to himself. Emmit is not your date. He has never been and he never will be. Just be there for him in the way he wants you to be.  
Yes... this was the mindset he needed for a time like this. He relaxed his shoulders (or at least made an attempt) and held his head high. His spine made a couple of small sounds in protest, but he felt much better when he opened his front door.  
He spent the next anxious thirty minutes trying to clean up his living room. It did not need to be cleaned. Esther had tidied everything up before she left, and it never got messy, anyway. But it made Sy feel better. And if not 'better', then at least it took his mind off of Emmit until the moment his doorbell rang.

He didn't look good. And Sy could tell right away that he had been crying. He wasn't going to say anything about it, though.  
"Come in."  
"Thank you, Sy. Thank you so much."  
Sy watched as Emmit fumbled with his coat a bit, then decided to leave him to it. He walked over to the living room, asking what he would like to drink. Behind his back, he heard Emmit sigh.  
"Pour me a scotch, will you..?"  
"How about some wine?"  
"Yeah, yeah, that's fine, Sy. Totally... fine. Whatever, really."  
Sy opened the cupboard and pulled out the cork, standing in the kitchen, making motions he was only used to make in a festive context, with family. Not at a time like this. Not with Emmit as his solitary guest. Not with a man whose eyes were still red from crying. Sy wished he knew what to say to him. But he had never been good at offering comfort.  
_You suck at standing up for someone, at giving protection, and yet you also suck at being a sensitive loser_ , he scolded himself in perfect silence. _You are worthless. There is nothing, nothing, you are even remotely good at._ He felt an overwhelming urge to hit himself in the face, hard, but fought it until it slowly went away again.

  
He donned a smile he hoped looked friendly and reassuring as he walked back to the living room, two glasses of crisp red wine in his hands. But it probably looked like the grin of an unhinged, famished wolf. Still, he couldn't change his expression, convulsive as it was.  
Emmit was seated on the couch, his legs folded underneath him, huddled in a corner with a lot of pillows. He had dutifully taken off his shoes; Sy could see them in the hallway. He smiled back at Sy, but seemed to look away before their eyes had even met.  
"It's all in shambles, Sy," he proclaimed. His voice sounded funny. It frightened Sy and his stomach twisted into a spasm of worry. "All of it."  
Sy sat down next to him, at the opposing end of the couch, as far away from him as possible. "Maybe it's better if we don't think about it now." He set the glasses on the table, on stylish coasters. "If we talked about something else, huh?"  
"You are the only person I can talk to about this. Stella… I don’t want to burden her with this. And I don't know what else there is to talk about. Everything is broken. We're losing. I think we've already lost. We weren't paying attention and suddenly... it's all taken away from us. Any control we had. That is, if-" he stared at Sy with big, round eyes- "we ever really were in control."  
"Things are still moving as they were before," Sy tried. "When you look at the normal, day-to-day things, not much has changed."  
"It's just that that creep Varga is sneaking around town. Did you know he's got a key to our house?"  
"Does he?"  
"I don't know how else he got in! What I'm saying is, Sy, this show is no longer on the road. I am done. And I was hoping you'd agree with me."  
Sy raised his eyebrows. "Done? With what?"  
Emmit made a sweeping, frustrated gesture with his arm. "All of this. I think we are finished here. We need to get the hell out. Sell the business, and run."  
"That sure is... a statement. After all the work we put in the business, that is."  
"I know. But I'm serious. I don't feel safe. I drove over to you just now and I was looking in the rear-view mirror the entire time. I had to hide my car in the garage at the end of the street. I still don't know if they might find it, anyway. It's a short walk, 2 minutes, tops, and I kept looking over my shoulder." He looked up to Sy, trying to find something in his eyes. Sy did not know what he was looking for.  
"What I'm trying to say is: I cannot do this any longer. Not one more day of it. If I see those hit-men of his one more time I will legit get a seizure. You need to let me go."  
Confused, Sy blinked at his best friend. "I... need to let you go?"  
Emmit nodded frantically. "Please. I'm begging you."  
"But I am not keeping you in... or anything. This is just the first time I'm hearing this from you. I thought... I thought you wanted to go along with them..."  
"Maybe it looked like that in the beginning. I was scared, Sy! Weren't you?"  
"Yes, I still am. For your well-being, mostly."  
It was subtle, but Emmit moved away from him, creating more distance. "What do you mean?"  
"I mean that I am concerned for your sake. I may be a partner in the firm, but it's your name on our letterhead, you know? And since we started, you have put more work into it than I did. I guess I just figured... if anything goes wrong from here on, it would hurt you more than it would hurt me."  
Emmit did not reply. His gaze moved to his glass of wine, untouched. The deep, dark red looked delicious to Sy, but what did Emmit see when he looked at it? Poison? Betrayal? Sy could hardly believe it, but he had to face that he had lost Emmit's trust. He didn't even have the time to contemplate what that meant to him (mostly because it hurt too much). He had to do whatever it took to win it back. He felt as if he had to reach Emmit through a thick haze when he tried to speak, almost like a dream in which you want to scream, but nobody hears you.  
"I am telling you the truth, Emmit."  
"But I'm sure you can understand that I am on guard?"  
"With me? You are on guard when you are with me?"  
"Don't say that like it's completely unreasonable. I'm not around when you speak with... Varga. Not always. How can I be sure of what goes on behind closed doors in a situation like this? It's like everyone I have ever trusted is turning their back on me. Why would you be different? It just takes a little bit longer for you to drop me, because you guys need me to do some things for you, sign some papers, before you can stab me in the back." Emmit pressed his palms to his eyes and took a nervous breath. "I'm willing to back off, Sy, just, please, stop doing this to me."  
"I'm not doing anything to you," Sy said, in spite of his fear that Emmit had decided beforehand not to believe him, in spite of his suspicion that anything he said would be useless. His voice dropped to a sad monotone. "I'm with you, and I have been with you, always."  
As Emmit did not answer, he took a big gulp of his wine, not to prove anything, but because he needed it. How could he look at Emmit, his hands still pressed to his eyes, shaking from the stress he was under, and do it sober? He drank some more. He only moved closer to Emmit because he had no idea what else he could do for him. He laid his hands on his shoulders and stopped there, almost certain that Emmit did not want those hands there and definitely did not want anything more.  
_But he is my friend,_ he thought, his heart beating quicker than usual, but he couldn't feel any butterflies. More like a rock in his stomach. _It's simply a human tendency to reach out..._

  
Emmit just curled up a bit further, hiding his face, showing Sy how much he didn't want to look at him. Sy pulled back his hands and moved away from him. Both huddled up on their respective sides of the Feltz family's couch, they ignored each other. Emmit was crying, but he was doing his best to hide the noises. Sy just drank. When he had emptied his glass, he got up to get the bottle.  
At the kitchen counter, he paused, staring into the drain in his sink. He was willing to do anything for his partner. Whatever he asked, he would do; out of respect, out of love, with no hesitation. Even if he knew better. Even if he knew that what Emmit asked wasn't good for him. He had kept his distance for twenty years. Was there any reason to stop now?

  
He went upstairs to fix the spare bed on the attic. Esther always kept freshly washed sheets in the closet there. You never know, is what she often said. Judging his work, feeling a bit shaky on his feet, Sy hoped that Emmit would sleep. Sleep as long and as deep as he needed.  
_I love him so much_ , he thought, as he had thought thousands of times before. He clenched his teeth and felt tears slowly sliding down his cheeks.


	5. Four months, this year

He found Emmit with his glass of wine in his hand when he walked back downstairs.  
"So, we've both been crying," he said in a small voice. It was a strange, probably already failed attempt at breaking the tension, but to be fair, what could possibly break this tension? He gestured to the half-emptied glass in Emmit's hand.   
"Did you finally have some?"  
Emmit looked at his glass. "It's a really good wine," he whispered. "It's just real good... God, I'm so sorry!"  
Sy had no time to prepare, even though he had been waiting for this for years. He froze as Emmit briskly walked up to him and threw his arms around him. It wasn't a hug, it was a statement. He held him as close as Sy had wanted him to do, all of the days he had wasted longing for him. And now that it was happening, he didn't know what to do. Emmit tried to get closer, tried to squeeze him tighter. His warm breath to the skin on his neck was what finally made Sy react. His arms moved on their own and found Emmit fit between them perfectly (as he had always known). 

  
They stood in the middle of the Feltz's living room, in silence. The curtains were closed; the wine bottle was almost empty. Standing on the table, the bottle was a kind of witness, a conscious onlooker. Neither of them let go and time seemed to slow down. Sy could finally physically feel what he had looked at for such a long time. He touched Emmit's head and let the soft curls slide between his fingers. There was a hint of shampoo and some expensive fragrance, but Sy mostly smelled Emmit's pheromones; at least, that is what he suspected, because he sure as hell felt the butterflies now. Closing his eyes didn't help, trying to take deeper breaths didn't help. 

"I'm sorry," Emmit repeated, his head to Sy's shoulder. "I'm so sorry about everything."

Sy smiled quietly. In spite of the 'everything' Emmit was talking about, he couldn't remember when he had last been this happy.   
"You can make it up to me."  
"What?"  
Oh, heck... had he really said that out loud? Sy felt the hot blood flow to his face instantly. "I... nothing."  
"It's okay. I think I know."   
"No, you- you don't have to..."  
But Emmit was already kissing him. It wasn't just a peck; it was an actual kiss. He moved back, looked Sy in his eyes, and kissed his lips again.   
_I wish you’d open your mouth_ , Sy thought, and an instant later, that’s what Emmit did. _Slower_ , Sy begged in silence, _go slower_. Almost as if Sy had wished it into existence, it turned into a very slow, very deep kiss. It took minutes, this time. Emmit smiled a bit, at his own behavior, Sy figured. 

"I guess I'm a little bit drunk."  
"So am I."  
"But... did you mind?"  
Sy couldn't help but smile at that absurd idea. "Not one bit."  
"And did I make it up to you?"  
"Yes."  
"I don't know what got over me. I never meant to hurt you. You know that, right?"  
"Of course I do."  
Emmit sighed and rested his head on Sy's shoulder again. "You're being too nice to me. You're allowed to get angry if someone mistreats you and you should be angry with me."  
"I can't be angry with you."  
"You should have gotten angry so many times before, too."  
"I couldn't."

Emmit scoffed and shook his head. "Sy… how long have you been in love with me for?"  
Sy had never blushed more in his entire life, it seemed. He had no answer. It was all too embarrassing.  
"It's alright. I have been in love with you for about four months; this year, that is. At least. It's an on-and-off thing with me." He pressed Sy tightly to his chest. "Let's get out. Let's leave town, leave it- all of it. I'm done with it. I don't want it anymore."  
Sy wanted to hear more about Emmit being in love with him- but he didn’t ask and considered his words. Getting out and leaving it all. It would mean long drives. Looking over their shoulders for years, at least. Changing residence. Maybe only a tiny, careful bit of contact with Esther. Leaving the state, maybe the country. No money, no savings, no insurance, no assets. Finding some simple jobs somewhere. Being anonymous.

"Deal."

"Let's jump ship tomorrow. Alright?"  
"Alright."

"I would rather we leave tonight, but we shouldn't drive..."  
Sy stroked Emmit's curls. "You need to rest."  
"I know. I know."  
"Let's go upstairs."

  
There was a certain quality to Emmit’s smile after he said that. Something shy, something coy, something Sy had never seen on his face before. Emmit grabbed his hand and pulled him along, up the stairs, into the bedroom. He sat down, loosened his shirt, changed his mind halfway and let Sy take off his clothes. Sy needed some encouragement, because he couldn’t move until Emmit laid his hands to the buttons on his white shirt. He could go through the motions from there, on his knees. When he was done and Emmit’s clothes were a pile on the chair, Emmit returned the favor until they were both in just their underwear. As he laid down and hid in the blankets, Sy briefly went out of the room to switch off all the lights in the house. He practically ran back upstairs; he couldn’t wait. He joined Emmit in his own bed. He had made it so warm already. He held him close, wishing he could drink this entire evening, devour everything about Emmit and keep it within himself to keep reliving, every day, for the rest of his life. Neither of them spoke. They kissed until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	6. Waking up

After an evening like that, Sy had not expected to get much sleep. It was okay, though. He held Emmit through the night, careful not to disturb him in any way, and was satisfied that he, at least, was deep in a dream. After 4 AM, he must have fallen asleep somehow, because he woke up about two hours later. His head was heavy and groggy and Emmit was gone. Sy jolted up as fresh adrenaline was pumped through his veins. The pile of clothes on the chair was no longer there. 

"What did you do to him," Sy mumbled as he hopped out of bed. "What did you do, where did you take him?"

His first search around the house was unsuccessful. Sy quickly threw on the nightgown Esther had gotten him on Christmas a couple of years back, and went out the door to check outside. No sight of Emmit. He tried to spot his car. It wasn't there. But then again, Emmit had said that he had chosen a pretty distant spot to park it, for safety. After frantically changing clothes and putting on his shoes, Sy ran out the door again. He searched the whole block this time, to no avail. He speed dialed Emmit's mobile number, over and over again, only to get the same message, telling him that Emmit, wherever he was, was unable to answer his calls.  
"Where did you take him," he whispered, standing on a sidewalk a couple of hundred meters away from his home, his phone in his hand; still trying to reach an unavailable number; feeling like a fool. He just wanted him back. He wanted yesterday back. Fearing he was about to break down and cry in the middle of the street on an early Saturday morning, Sy quickly retreated, locked all of his doors and windows and sat down on his couch.

 

The bottle of wine was still on the table. There was only a little bit left. Sy knew he definitely had not drunk all of it by himself. 

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bottle. The cork was lying next to it; another sign that Emmit had definitely, absolutely been here. If Sy had been on his own, would he have forgotten to put it back in the bottle? Probably not. He never forgot.  
He studied the label, the scent. There had to be some fingerprints of Emmit's on the bottle, he had poured his glass himself... Or hadn't he? Sy searched his memory and remembered he hadn't been in the room at that time. He had been fixing the other bed in the spare room. In a haze, he stumbled up the stairs and peeked through the door of the spare bedroom. The bed was made, but not slept in. Sy leaned against the doorpost. After minutes of standing there, not thinking about anything, he realized he was just waiting for Esther to get back home. It was only 06:42 AM. Sy decided to crawl back in his bed. 

 

Dreaming about Emmit was no longer enough for him.

Still, his mind returned to its familiar rituals. They were etched into his brain like grooves in a worn-out record. He couldn't fall asleep without them. For the thousandth time, he confessed his love for him in his head. When he concentrated, he could almost feel Emmit’s lips to his.


End file.
